


The Things We Say

by Rinielle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluffy Chief/Centre/Guide feels everywhere, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:29:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinielle/pseuds/Rinielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walking into the back room of the Musain to find Enjolras arguing – no, sorry – in deep debate with another member of their group, wasn’t exactly the rarest of occurrences. But when it's Enjolras and Combeferre that are arguing, everyone knows that something must have changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Say

Walking into the back room of the Musain to find Enjolras arguing – no, sorry – in deep debate with another member of their group, wasn’t exactly the rarest of occurrences. More often than not it was Grantaire, and next in line was Marius; but at one point or another most of the group had found themselves at odds with their leader. Despite most of them being very similarly politically inclined, there were always differences of opinion to be had, and also being similarly politically passionate, those opinions had a tendency to clash rather spectacularly on occasion.

There were only two exceptions to the rule it seemed. One was Feuilly, partly because he so rarely expressed dissent and partly – the other’s suspected – because Enjolras had a strange kind of awe inspired respect for the man; on the rare occasions they did disagree on anything, the whole thing would be sorted with two minutes of quiet, private, conversation. Conversation that usually ended with Enjolras’opinions quite changed. The other exception was Combeferre, and not even Courfeyrac could remember a time when his two best friends had properly disagreed on anything; despite their very different temperaments.

So when he walked into the back room just a few minutes late, with Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet alongside him, chattering merrily, they were all of them shocked into immediate silence to find their leader and his second in command looking ready to commit murder across the table from each other.

Glancing round the room Courfeyrac found Jehan sitting in a corner looking decidedly shell-shocked, and Bahorel and Feuilly sat at their usual central table, a stack of cards lying abandoned between them. A cigarette was dangling precariously in Bahorel’s mouth, and if circumstances were different it might have been amusing.

“What’s going… oh!” Cosette had squeezed her way passed Courfeyrac, where he was blocking the doorway and she too froze at the sight. The two men in question seemed to break out of their staring match simultaneously; apparently, even angry with each other, they could still move as one unit. They were both red faced and breathing hard, fists clenched at their sides as if ready to throw a punch; Courfeyrac was certain that Combeferre had never punched anyone in his life.  
“Cosette? Courfeyrac?” Marius’ voice drifted into the room from somewhere behind them, “What’s going on?” someone ssshed him, probably Joly, but the addition of his voice once again snapped something in Enjolras and Combeferre and they both moved back away from the table.

“Think what you want then, Enjolras,” said Combeferre, using the hard tone he usually reserved for their opponents, and he started gathering his things together, “If it makes you happy,” and with those cutting parting words, he strode across the room, the group in the doorway parting like the red sea to let him through. Courfeyrac’s eyes followed him all the way down the corridor and out of sight before he glanced back into their meeting room, unsure whether to stay or follow. Enjolras managed to maintain his angered expression for all of five seconds more before sighing, defeated, and sinking down into his chair; Courfeyrac had never seen him look so entirely lost. The others around him trickled fully into the room, heading for either Jehan or Feuilly and Bahorel. Grantaire was the only one aside from himself to hang back, watching Enjolras with uncertainty. Courfeyrac gave him a nudge to get his attention, and a nod in their leader’s direction, and the man took the hint and made his way over with caution. Trusting that Enjolras was in good company and well supervised, Courfeyrac slipped away; he was needed elsewhere right now.

He found Combeferre leaning on the wall outside the café, a cigarette in hand, and that itself would be enough to make Courfeyrac worry. He looked relaxed, but Combeferre only ever smoked when he was truly upset or stressed, and Courfeyrac could count the number of times he’d seen him do so on his fingers. He watched as his friend took a long, deep drag and let out a stream of smoke before he made his presence known.

“Nice night for it,” he said, conversationally, as if nothing at all were unusual. He didn’t lie however, the night was warm and the sky was clear; if they weren’t in the centre of the city they’d be able to see the stars. Combeferre, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch at the sudden intrusion on his quiet moment. He did seem somewhat surprised by Courfeyrac’s appearance however, and that stung somewhat; Courfeyrac made a point never to play favourites with his best friends. Enjolras had the whole group back inside, and a more than willing ear in Grantaire. Courfeyrac was exactly where he should be right now.  
“I suppose it is,” Combeferre replied slowly, before taking another drag of his cigarette.  
“It is nearly June after all,” said Courfeyrac, cheerfully, moving to lean next to his friend on the wall, “Want to tell me what just happened?” he added with nonchalance, and Combeferre sighed, breathed out another cloud of smoke and scrunched up his nose with distaste as he watched it.

“I got a new job offer,” he said after a moment, and Courfeyrac thought that was a particularly strange but reasonably effective way to avoid the subject.  
“That’s great,” he replied, genuinely pleased for his friend, if wondering what the relevance of the news was.  
“In London,”

Oh.

“Well you don’t…”  
“I already accepted,”

Oh.

“Well, I mean, that’s still… that’s still great ‘Ferre,” and maybe his congratulations were a little – a lot – more strained that time around. Combeferre must have noticed, it would be impossible not to, even to someone far less observant than his best friend; still he didn’t call him on it. Instead he simply nodded quietly to himself.  
“It is,” he said, “It’s a better job, practically two steps up the ladder, way better pay too of course, better facilities. Maybe some of the staff will even know what they’re doing,”  
Courfeyrac had always known that Combeferre would rise through the ranks faster than most, he was without a doubt the smartest and most able person Courfeyrac had ever known; and really, he didn’t think that was even his bias talking. Still, he’d rather thought he would rise through the ranks here in Paris, not across the channel.  
“It’s a…”  
“Yeah I get it,” he said sharply, “It’s better than here,” he let that remark sit in the air for a moment, then he sighed, and let his head fall back against the wall; he really hadn’t meant to snap. Hell he’d come out here to comfort and console, not to get angry. Combeferre dropped the cigarette he was holding, and reached for another as he crushed the first under his heel. Courfeyrac had never felt worse about himself. “Sorry,” he said, and he closed his eyes and shook his head, as if that might clear the negative thoughts swirling around in his mind. “I’m being a shitty friend huh?”  
“In relative terms, I’d say you’re doing better than some,” and Courfeyrac couldn’t say that made him feel too much better, considering he had just witnessed the aftermath of ‘than some’.

They stood together in silence for some time after that. It was less uncomfortable than perhaps it should have been; when your two best friends were obsessive workaholics and not much for small talk in general, you got used to extended silences. Nobody else from their group had been seen to leave as yet, so either Enjolras was being heavily consoled, berated, or was trying to pretend nothing was wrong and had continued the meeting as normal. If the latter, Courfeyrac made a mental note to kick his ass for it later. For now he simply listened to the idle chatter from the front room and tried to get his thoughts in order.

He could hardly believe this was happening at all. Combeferre was one of those people - those ever present, constant sort of people - who never changed, and who were always exactly where you needed them, and who became such a part of your life, that you simply couldn’t remember a time they weren’t there; or imagine a time that they wouldn’t be. It wasn’t like moving to England was going to put him a world away, but it certainly felt that way. He almost wanted to be angry about it again, to make it easier. ‘Like Enjolras,’ he thought to himself; but that behaviour was simply not in his nature.  Besides, this was good news for Combeferre, and an opportunity he couldn’t have said no to, and Courfeyrac couldn’t find it in him to begrudge his friend the chance to move closer to his dream job; even if it was in another country. He sighed lightly; everyone always said he was too soft.

Still, the idea of losing Combeferre was not an easy one to come to terms with, and Combeferre had almost finished his second smoke before Courfeyrac spoke again.  
“I am pleased for you,” he said, when found he could say it honestly, and Combeferre nodded in thanks, “But dammit ‘Ferre, I’m going to miss you,” he added, reaching out to grasp his friends’ shoulder, and Combeferre raised a hand to rest on top of his.  
“Yeah,” he said, and since he had chosen to ignore the strained congratulations of Courfeyrac earlier, Courfeyrac chose not to draw attention to the obvious thickness in his voice, or the shine in his eyes that he turned slightly away to conceal, “You too.”  
“Everyone’s going to miss you,” said Courfeyrac carefully, “Especially Enjolras,”  
Combeferre took one last drag at those words, “He was there when I got the call this morning,” he said, dropping the second cigarette beside the remains of the first, “I thought he was okay, well, as okay as he ever is. He was just quiet. I was going to tell everyone tonight when you all got here, but then Jehan started talking to me about the rally next month…”  
“And he just had to comment,” because when has Enjolras ever been able to keep his thoughts to himself. Occasionally Combeferre could calm him down, but when Combeferre was the target…  
“Must have been holding it in all day I suppose,” he continued, leaning his head back against the wall, “Started accusing me of abandoning the cause, abandoning everyone, only caring about money or prestige, selfishness; all sorts. Hit a nerve I guess,” Courfeyrac could imagine that Combeferre had been thinking all those things and more about himself since taking the job; he really was going to kill Enjolras when he saw him. “I said some pretty awful things as well, come to that.” Combeferre added, always fair, “That he could never just be happy for people, I called him cold hearted, said that he cares more for the cause than his friends, that he’s oblivious to the feelings of others. I think I mentioned R,”  
“Bet he loved that,” Courfeyrac said.  
“Indeed,” he replied, “That’s when he asked why I even bothered coming to the meeting if I felt that way, that it would be better if I just left now and didn’t come back again. That’s about when you all showed up,”

Courfeyrac shook his head. They had both been rather unfair to each other, Combeferre was probably more angry at himself than Enjolras at this point. He suspected the same was probably true of Enjolras too. They both knew how untrue what Combeferre had said to him was; Enjolras was the true opposite of cold hearted, and he cared about his friends more than anything. He was just very bad at showing it sometimes.  
“You know he only said those things because he’s Enjolras, and he doesn’t deal with feelings like normal people right?” he said, and that made Combeferre laugh, slightly bitterly.  
“I know,” he said, running a hand across his face and through his hair, “And I knew it when we were arguing too, but he has this way of saying things and it just…” he waved the hand in lieu of finishing the sentence, but Courfeyrac knew what he meant. Enjolras seemed to have a natural instinct for exactly what he needed to say to really hit home. It was a useful talent in many ways – especially when it came to recruiting people to the cause – but it was not one you wanted turned on you in an argument; sometimes he could be downright cruel without ever really meaning to be.  
“Besides, I think part of me was doing the same thing,” added Combeferre after a moment, “I honestly don’t know what I’ll do without you all,”  
“Oh I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly without us to babysit,” Courfeyrac laughed, nudging against his shoulder, “It’s us that’ll be in trouble. We’ll probably all murder each other within ten minutes without your calming influence,”  
“I’ll be very sad to read about it,” said Combeferre.  
“I’m sure you’ll be crying into your tea,” and Combeferre pulled a face at that and Courfeyrac laughed again. With his neat hair, ridiculously old fashioned sense of style and his glasses, it was rather easy to imagine Combeferre sat in a parlour somewhere sipping tea from the good china; a very amusing mental image that was disturbed a moment later when someone cleared their throat nearby. Both men turned at the same time to see Enjolras standing somewhat awkwardly just a few feet away. Silence reigned for a few moments, and that, Courfeyrac thought, was an awkward silence. It was Enjolras who broke it.

“It has been brought to my attention,” he said slowly, “Somewhat… forcefully,” he added, and Courfeyrac imagined a tag team of Grantaire, Jehan and Cosette to be the responsible party, “That I’ve been incredibly, unfair, and more than a bit of an…”  
“Ass?” put in Courfeyrac with a grin, pushing himself off the wall. He was only half serious but Enjolras flushed and looked down at his shoes, and really tonight was a night of many surprises and firsts.  
“Yes, that,” he said after a moment, and then looked up again to address Combeferre, “I… You are one of the most selfless people that I know, and you have given more to our cause than anyone could have asked, and it was wrong of me to say those things,”  
“And?” Courfeyrac glanced uneasily back at where Combeferre was still leaning against the wall, rather more stiff in his posture than he been a few moments ago.  
“And I’m sorry,” and apparently that was exactly the right thing to say, because a moment later Combeferre’s whole body relaxed and he stepped forward with a smile.  
“I’m sorry too,” he said, “For what I said; I know you care a great deal, about all of us. A great deal too much sometimes.” He added and Courfeyrac grinned again, “And I’m sorry I didn’t properly consider how this would affect you, I should have realised something was wrong. Maybe I did and was too much of a coward to face you properly, I don’t know,”  
“You’re hardly the coward here Combeferre. I was the one who chose to let my feelings fester when I should have been honest with you,” replied Enjolras, “And refused to consider your feelings or your reasons for taking this job. If it is something you truly want to do, I am happy for you,”  
“Thank you. And you know that I will always be on your side don’t you? Our cause will always be my top priority. You only need to ask and I shall be all the help I can be,” said Combeferre, “Even from another country. I’ll find the time,”  
“I know that. It was foolish of me to ever doubt it, perhaps…”

“Yawn!” said Courfeyrac loudly, “You’re both idiots. This has been established. Can we get to the part where you hug and make up please? I feel like you’re about to start talking business. Honestly what kind of best friends are you?”

They both rolled their eyes at him, but never the less stepped forward and embraced, arms wrapping tightly around each other and heads buried in each other’s shoulders. Courfeyrac wide grin became a gentler smile as he watched them practically cling to one another, as if the other might disappear the instant they let go; and he had to fight with himself to swallow the lump in his throat. He was only half successful, and rather than get caught being so sentimental, he shook himself and leapt forward to ambush both his friends; knocking all three of them off balance until both Enjolras and Combeferre had an arm around him too, steadying themselves. Perhaps they looked a strange sight, three grown men hugging in the middle of the street; they hardly had it in them to care.

\---

“Does this make me second in command then,” Courfeyrac asked as they trailed back along the corridor towards the meeting room, and Enjolras paused in his step, gripping at Combeferre’s sleeve to stop him too. Leaving Courfeyrac to almost walk straight into their backs.  
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said decisively, fixing Combeferre with steely eyes, “You are _not_ allowed to leave,” and ignoring Courfeyrac’s jovial shout of protest he strode off down the hall, half dragging a laughing Combeferre in his wake.

**Author's Note:**

> So really I just have this massive head canon that if Enjolras and Combeferre ever properly argued it would be like Les Amis seeing their parents getting a divorce and they'd all be lost and shocked... and also there isn't enough Courfeyrac being a part of this best friendship in this fandom.


End file.
